Valdemar 06 - [Exile 02] - Exile’s Valor (11 page)

:This is winter weather typical for the North of Valdemar, not so much here,:
said Kantor.
:I wonder—:

There was a long pause, as they wove their way among the houses of the highborn, and laughter and shrieks of pleasure and excitement echoed behind the walls and fences.

:You wonder—?:
Alberich prompted his Companion.

:Well, it's dreadfully soon . . . and the Court is technically still in mourning . . . but a snowfall like this doesn't come very often, and there's going to be a hard cold spell coming behind it.:
Kantor gave the impression to Alberich that he was musing aloud, though Alberich wondered for a moment where he was getting his weather information.
:The Terilee is going to freeze solid when that cold spell comes—that hasn't happened in fifty years. I just wonder if it's occurred to Selenay to decree a Snow Festival.:

Although Alberich had never heard of a Snow Festival before, the name pretty much told him everything he needed to know.
:If the river freezes solid, isn't something like that bound to happen spontaneously anyway?:
The very novelty of the frozen river would bring skaters—the skaters would draw vendors of food and drink, and those would attract musicians, skate sharpeners, skate vendors, and probably more merchants than that. On the whole—well, it wouldn't be a bad thing for an official Festival to take place, official mourning be damned. The Wars had dragged on for years. Sendar's death had cast a pall over the entire country, but there was only so much grieving that you could do before you just wearied of it. Selenay's coronation had been a triumph, but it had been a shadowed triumph.

:Well, you can hear it beginning for yourself:
Kantor agreed, tossing his head in the direction of yet more laughter.
:And once the river freezes, people will come flocking down to the banks. If it were me, I'd go ahead and make the decree so that what is going to break out anyway gets some time limits to it. And while we're at it, something like this would create a number of excellent opportunities for you to nose about and listen.:
Kantor paused, perhaps to gather his thoughts.
:If anyone is going to try and foment discontent, oddly enough, a Festival is a good place to do so. You can say things then that people will dismiss as the drink talking—but the words will still stick in the memory, and should Selenay or her Council do something that people don't agree with—those words will be remembered.:

:We really do think too much alike,:
Alberich agreed, as they turned in at the gate, with a friendly nod to the Guardsman on duty.
:So, to whom should we drop hints, and when?:

:Leave that to us Companions,:
said Kantor.
:It's what we're good at.:

The area around the salle was extremely quiet without streams of Trainees coming and going. When Dethor had moved out, Alberich had gotten the carpenters to put in a good, stout, one-Companion “stable” up against that oven wall for Kantor to stay in when he chose. It was immensely more convenient not to have to go all the way up to the Companions' stable in order to tack him up—and this way, he and Kantor could come and go without any fuss or anyone noticing. Kantor himself always went up to the main stable to eat and drink, and Companions being Companions and not horses, the interior of this secondary stable didn't need to be cleaned. Alberich being Alberich, he saw to Kantor's tack himself, except for the fancy “show” or “parade” tack, so it wasn't really any inconvenience to the stablehands, either, for Kantor to have his everyday kit down here. Alberich dismounted at the door of the little lean-to addition, and Kantor followed him inside. It was pleasantly warm, thanks to that brick wall.

:I'm going up to the stable,:
the Companion said, as Alberich took off his halter and he shook his head and neck vigorously.
:I'm going to have some consultations.:

Alberich bent to unbuckle the girth.
:I'll probably be here for the next mark or two. I want to think a few things over myself.:

Kantor tossed his head, and when Alberich had a good grip on the saddle and blanket, walked out from underneath them.
:I'll let you know if anything gets started.:

And with that, the Companion trotted back out into the snow, leaving Alberich to wipe down the tack and hang it up to dry.

It was less quiet in the salle than Alberich had thought it would be. He'd forgotten that there was going to be a crew of cleaners making sure that there was not the tiniest bit of glass left behind, then setting the floor to rights again. The soft murmur of voices was rather pleasant. He slipped in without disturbing them and went back into his own quarters.

The glory of his window took him by surprise—a blaze of gold and blue, color in a room that had been pale and faded in winter light before the window had been put in.

It was going to be a while before he got used to the change, but the shock was one of pleasure, and he found that he liked it. He sat down where he got the best possible view of the glass, and was bathed in the golden light coming from the Sun-In-Glory.

Ah
. . . . It felt good. It felt right, to have the light of Vkandis about him. It felt like a blessing, and perhaps it was. If that was so, well, this was a good place for him to be when he was thinking about important decisions.

Now, the question about Keren and Myste was, should he take one or both women into his confidence concerning his covert work? Myste had the better knowledge of Haven; Keren would fit into rougher places. As he weighed the abilities of one against the other, it became clear that if he was going to do this, it
would,
eventually, have to be both. Neither had the ability or the skills to move in all the places that he could. But he thought that he would approach Keren about this first. It was, after all, the rougher places of Haven where most of his prowling was done.

That made him feel easier. Later, perhaps, he could ask Myste, if he thought he'd need her. She wasn't much good at anything physical, and he wasn't sure just how well she could conceal her feelings. He really didn't want to involve her if he didn't have to.

No matter how good a notion Kantor thought it was. Companions weren't
always
right.

“B
LOODY hell!” Herald Keren said, in sheer admiration. She shook her head. “All this time? You've been running around in Hell's own neighborhood all this time? By yourself? Bloody hell!” Keren had held Alberich in high esteem for his skill, but he sensed that this had not been anything she would have pictured him doing. “So where's your wheelbarrow, then?”

“Pardon?” he said, puzzled, as Ylsa choked. But neither of them explained, so he decided it was one of those colloquialisms he wouldn't understand even if he knew what she'd meant, and dismissed it from his mind.

Keren was probably Alberich's age, though with someone from Lake Evendim it was hard to tell. They were all lean, tall, and had the sort of face that appears not to change a great deal between the ages of twenty and sixty. She had been a Herald for several years by the time Alberich came to Haven, and people swore she'd looked pretty much the same as she did now on the day she arrived. She was an oddity among the female Heralds, as she wore her brown hair cropped close to her head, but then, the only “hairstyle” she was interested in was how to braid up a Companion's mane and tail for parade.

“Since Dethor his Second made me, prowling the streets I have been,” Alberich confirmed. Keren grinned at him, with a glint in her eye that made her partner Ylsa sigh and cast a glance up toward heaven.

Ylsa was cut of similar cloth to Keren, though her hair was an ash-blonde and her jaw square rather than Evendim-narrow. Apparently they had been together from the time they were yearmates as Trainees. Ylsa tended to be the one who exercised more caution than Keren did; hardly surprising, really, since Myste claimed the Lake Evendim fishers were all descended from pirates. “And just how often have you been doing this?” she asked.

“Of late, perhaps every two or three nights. But during the worst of it, nightly, could I manage it.”

“Bloody hell! When did you sleep?” Keren demanded.

“Infrequently, apparently,” Ylsa muttered.

He had known he would have to let Ylsa in on the secret of his double life the moment he'd decided to recruit Keren; he had learned as a commander that the only way to ensure perfect cooperation from his men—or now, his women—was to make certain their partners knew what was toward. And although by the strictest Karsite creed, what was between Ylsa and Keren was—not to be thought of—Alberich had been a leader of men for far too long not to know that things that were not to be thought of were commoner than the Sunpriests admitted.

Back when he'd been a Captain of the Sunsguard, two of his men had had just such an “understanding” between them, though the rest of the troop had not known, and Alberich doubted that even the two in question ever realized he had discovered their association. They had been very good at keeping it all to themselves, but Alberich had been better at reading subtle body language than they were at concealing it from him. Never once had it affected their performance; never once had they allowed it to affect their behavior in the troops. After careful soul searching on Alberich's part, he had finally decided that what did not affect the troops did not matter, and ignored it.

Several more of the men had clandestine marriages with women in one or another of the villages—ordinary fighters were not permitted to marry, at all, under any circumstances, only officers. Needless to say, those “understandings,” too, had been kept very quiet. Strange, that whoring was tolerated, if preached against, but an honest marriage was absolutely forbidden . . . on the grounds that it was a distraction to the soldier.

This had all conflicted with what the Sunpriests decreed, and as their leader, his responsibility was to report every irregularity to the Sunpriests. Except that if he did that, he'd earn the hatred of half of them, and see the other half cashiered before six months was over. Eventually he had come to a decision on his own about what the men did or did not do. If some behavioral trait of one of his people did not affect performance and honor adversely, it mattered not at all. If it affected performance and honor positively, it mattered a very great deal.

So when confronted by similar “irregularities” as a Herald, he followed the same course, and that seemed to be the right way to go. It certainly fell right into line with the credo that “there is no one right way.”

So far as he could judge, Keren and Ylsa were good partners. Keren gave Ylsa a boost to thinking imaginatively. Ylsa steadied Keren down, something that hellion badly needed. If they had lovers' quarrels, they kept it to themselves, or at least, never involved anyone but a counselor. And although Keren was permanently stationed at the Collegium—there hadn't been a better riding instructor in the past fifty years, so it was said—and Ylsa was a Special Messenger, which took her out of Haven all the time, neither of them complained about being separated far too often. If they'd been Sunsguard, he'd have called them fine soldiers, and written them up for commendations. As it was, since there was no such thing as officers in the Heraldic Circle and thus absolutely nothing he could say or do that would get them any advance in rank, he merely considered it a pity that there weren't more Heralds like them.

“And you want me to help you out?” Keren continued, still with that glint in her eyes.

“From time to time. Not often. But there are some things women tell not to men. And some places men are welcome not.” He shrugged. “That there is the greatness of threat to Valdemar that there was once, I think not. That there is the threat still existing, however, I do think. I know not why there was that man paying for grumblings against the Queen, for instance, and this troubles me. Valdemar was not impoverished in the Wars as it could have been—”

“Thanks to you,” Ylsa pointed out. “If you hadn't gone after those children, and got the lion's share of the Tedrel loot in the process, we would have been.”

He waved that aside. “Still, seasoned fighters were lost; Valdemar hires not from the Mercenary Guild, so weakened will Valdemar be for some time. A weakened land is a land that others may seek—to exploit.”

“Hmm.” Ylsa sat back in her chair, and stroked her chin speculatively. “That could be . . . though we've friends on the east and south.”

“There is the north,” Keren pointed out. “Northern barbarians are always a danger, and the gods only know what Iftel might do—just because it's been quiet for centuries doesn't mean it won't suddenly roar up and turn into a menace. And there's always the west. Pirates on Evendim. Bandit bands large enough to qualify as armies. Weird stuff out of the Pelagirs. Gods only know what comes farther into the west than the Pelagirs.”

“Even so.” Alberich nodded. “The Northern Border and the Western are—”

“Fluid,” Ylsa supplied him. “And what's more, Selenay inherited a Kingdom where war has allowed other problems to be ignored. And I suspect you know that at first hand.” She raised an eyebrow at him; Special Messengers saw a lot, and were chosen as much for their ability to keep their mouths shut as their riding prowess.

He shrugged. “Indeed. The enemy I fear most lies within our borders. In Haven, the City Guard short-handed still remains. Opportunists come in all stripes, and all ranks. Perhaps this is why someone seeks to agitate against Selenay. While we look to that as trouble, we miss some other evil he may do. Where there are fortunes to be made, men will seek to make them, be the source never so vile.”